From Publishers Weekly
The Pittsburgh evoked in many of these generously elegiac narratives recalls the infernal Eden of the waning Industrial age, "a city in the confluence" where the men still walk in groups and drink after their shifts, and a phone call means someone has died. Fueled by memory, Gibb's poems form credible myths in which the poet-protagonist struggles toward redemption among the behemoth-like steel mills and looming mortality. His language, rich with sensory detail, takes up "The dialect coke and pig iron/ Leave upon the tongue" to render lurid cityscapes ("the floor crawling/ With rats,/ their metallic claws,/ Eyes bright as rivets....") that are contrasted with delicate ruminations on the natural world ("The wings almost deciduous,/ Antennae fusty as fronds" he writes of moths). Other poems directly and engagedly address the human condition: "There must be some way to enter/ The world and keep on moving into it,// Leaving the old life, rung by rattles,/ Lying there in the dark." This impulse toward transformation and transcendence pervades this fourth collection (following Fugue for a Late Snow), selected for the National Poetry Series by Eavan Boland, and is familiar enough that not everyone will be easily transported along. But in fusing childhood experience of working life, love and family with current labors and lusts ("Any life where a man/ Cannot go down on his knees,/ Drunk or sober in ecstasy/ Is not worth the pain") these poems make clear their voracity.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From Library Journal
One of the troubles of being a poet in contemporary America, it seems, is the rise of a pervading solemnity; afraid of revealing a fatal weakness by saying too much, or seeming to sing, our poets assure us of their worth by their unceasing seriousness. Gibb's fifth book of poems, the 1997 National Poetry Series-winning Origins of Evening, is unrelentingly downcast: the words night and gray and dark recur like bells striking the hour. Gibb has made a compelling craft out of the deep sadness of the spiritless and dangerous manual labors done in and around the Pittsburgh of his childhood, though the influence of James Wright on his diction and manner is heavy and at times imprisoning. Death, illness, and accident follow each other in mournful procession; even as Gibb describes early sexual feelings in "The Shape of the Goddess in Homestead Park" or "The Adorations," the effect is oddly involuted, as if in apology for the unexpected warmth of the subject. There is a musically gifted, exuberant poet within Gibb, if he were only permitted to sing. For larger collections of contemporary literature.?Graham Christian, Andover-Harvard Theological Lib., Cambridge
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.